


On top of the world

by spillingwords



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Fluff, Locklyle/Lucewood is the main ship but more should appear along the story, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spillingwords/pseuds/spillingwords
Summary: Lockwood & Co.'s days of glory ended along with the Problem and the agents' Talents. The ex-agents have been doing well by themselves, their record as a Psychic Investigations agency contributed to keep them going. The leader of the team, on the other hand, have been in bad shape. Without his Talent and the Company he's worked so hard to get, Lockwood felt desolate. Now it was up to his friends to help him get on his feet. And Lucy was more than pleased to do so.





	1. The New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfiction. Officially. Because I've always written lots of unfinished stuff and some random ideas, but this time I decided to post it! I hope it's good enough XD I also hope I get to finish it heh  
> English is not my native language, so forgive any mistakes I may have made, and if you have any tips to give me, I'll glady accept it!
> 
> I guess that's all? Oh, you know: I do not own any of the characters, they all belong to the evil genius Jonathan Stroud.  
> Ok, feel free to comment, criticize or just freak out over Locklyle or anything from the universe of Lockwood and Co. in general!

I was part of one the most famous agencies in London: the Lockwood & Co. We were officially a group of 4 plus a relic woman and an outcast. We all had our own Talents and we used them to help us find the Sources of ghosts and send them back to the Other Side. We were thriving. George, our researcher and slightly Talented on all the categories (Listening, Sight, Touch), eventually found the solution for the Problem - the outbreak of ghosts that spread throughout London - and we basically lost our jobs.

But don’t be sad! The DEPRAC was working to reinsert all the agents back in society, for we were dragged into the ghost-hunting world without much of a choice and hadn’t learned anything but fighting them since we were very young. But Lockwood & Co. didn’t need that. We were strong and independent. That was our mark. A mark that stood to this day. Yes, we were having a tough time, but individually, we were getting along just fine.

George had been responsible for the Cleaning. He studied everything ghost-related and could predict almost anything. That was how he discovered how to stop the Problem, and that was how he was helping London get rid of them for good. Holly was great at first aid, so she studied to become a nurse officially, and now she was studying to be a doctor. She was fierce, but kind, and very, VERY organized. And also a great friend. Our relic-girl, Flo, never wanted to have anything to do with us agents, even though she liked us, so it took us a lot of convincing - mostly from George - to get her to get away from the river digging life. Because, sooner or later, there wouldn’t be anything for her to dig anymore. So she helped out at DEPRAC to sort out relics, but she mostly hung out somewhere we never knew about. And our outcast, Quill, after being dumped from Fittes and half-joining us, he started giving swordfighting lessons as a sport, since kids didn’t need to fight ghosts anymore. He also helped at DEPRAC with knowledge of years in the field.

I was doing something like that. I gave classes on how to deal with any psychic phenomenon you got with your Talent. Kids nowadays don’t need to fight ghosts, but these ectoplasmic entities were still are out there, so this new generation must know what to do. And that’s what I had to teach them.

And our leader, even perhaps the most valuable team member, Lockwood, could also have had any of this. But… He was lost. The Company, his Talent, everything was gone. He couldn’t take it. So now, he mostly spent his time practicing with his rapier or locked in his room with piles of books he’d get from the library.

George and I still lived in Portland Row, mostly to keep an eye on him, but it was becoming a really hard feat. Our hopes of getting our Lockwood back were almost dying.

 

I closed the door of the house behind me. It was noon and I’d come back for the day because there were no classes for me this afternoon. I could smell lunch coming from the kitchen and I immediately knew George was home too.

“Hey, George,” I set my bag on the floor beside the chair I picked to sit on.

“Hi, Luce. Calling it a day?”

“Yeah, no classes for the afternoon.”

“Good,” he was concentrated on a map, his plate full of spaghetti being neglected for the time being.

George neglecting food? Something was definitely wrong.

“How about you? Any troubles?”

“Hm. Kinda. I’m having to redo the map of Chelsea, _again_. Turns out they stirred something they shouldn’t have and it altered the whole pattern. I have to redo it all."

“Well, the ghosts are still going to be there. Why don’t we eat first? It’s good to have company during meals sometimes.”

“Ah, right,” he set the map aside as I grabbed a full dish of spaghetti for myself. “Sorry. As much as I like doing this, I’ve been stressed. Bobby’s been trying to help but most of the work must be done by me… Anyway. Lockwood still doesn’t come down?”

“No... He's probably tied up with… something.”

“Yeah, right. Lockwood just… He needs to think straight. And you’re the only who can help him with that.”

“What? He shuts me out too. I can’t possibly help him. He won’t let me. I don’t… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Lucy, you know how he’s changed. Before all this. He became better. Because of you. I know I can’t ask that of you. But if you’re willing to, you should give him a try. You’re our only hope of getting Lockwood back.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose? I really wish that was true, though. I..,” My voice lowered to a whisper. “Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t be here. But I also feel like I _need_ to… I really wish I could help him.”

“Lucy… Lockwood’s broken by all this stuff going on. Trust me. I know you can do this. But if you ever feel like you can’t, like you _really_ can’t, you can leave. I’ll always have your back.”

“Thanks, George,” I offered him a smile.

“Okay, now that that’s said, I did make a special sauce for that spaghetti, so I want feedback - even though I know it tastes great. So don’t just scarf it down.”

I snorted. The spaghetti smelled _really_ good so I didn’t take chances and went for a full plate.

George had started eating, too. We ate mostly in silence. George was still taking notes in between full forks and I was taking a look at the new manual. More like a pamphlet. They’d release new pamphlets as soon as they’d gotten more procedures written down, and the collection of all of the editions would make the new manual.

“I’ll go get Lockwood some food,” I stood, my spaghetti half eaten, to get a dish for him.

“He’s eating now?”

“Yeah, I guess he got tired of sneaking into the kitchen when we’re not around instead of eating the dishes we make him,” my voice lowered to a mumble. "I may have threatened him too."

“When did that happen?”

“Few days ago. When that smartass fainted.”

“What?!?When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah, I forgot. Sorry, lots of stuff going on in my mind. But yeah, one day he was lying on the floor - on his face - in the library. He was probably getting some more books, but he hadn’t been eating properly, so…”

“Did you call someone?”

“Holly. I called her and she gave me directions. She was at work so she couldn’t come. And I’ve been mad at him since then - not that it makes any difference, we barely even talk. But I told him that if he didn’t eat I was going to force it down his throat with my foot.”

George took the information in. Then he spoke.

“If you ever need to say that again, tell him i’m backing you up on that.”

 

I went upstairs with a tray that had a dish of spaghetti, napkin, silverware and a bottle of water. I always leave it beside the door before knocking two times. Sometimes I stayed by the door for a few minutes, even called out to him, waiting to see if he’d come out so we could talk. He never did. Later, I'd have to come back and get the tray, untouched.

I'd talked to him a few times, when he came down to the library to get more books. But he would just ignore me, only acknoledging my presence with the faintest nod. 

So I’d given up on all that and just left it there.

To my surprise, though, right after the knocking - almost instantly, as if he’d heard me coming -, he opened the door. I stared at him, my eyes wide.

He looked just like I’d glimpsed him many times coming and going from the library, and just like when I’d dragged his unconscious self to his room a few days back. His hair was longer than usual, and even messier. It covered his eyes completely, except for where it had been tucked behind his ear. He had bags under his eyes, probably haven’t been sleeping well either. His dark eyes were dull, his lips looked like they didn’t know what a smile was anymore. A stubble have been growing on his chin.

The usual bathrobe was rumpled, framing his unhealthily skinny body. He gazed at me.

“Hi,” I said softly. Almost uncertainly.

The corner of his mouth twiched ever so slightly.

“…Thanks,” he bent to get the tray up.

“Hey, do you - would you like to come down and eat with us? We just started eating too. George is here. He’d like your company.”

He paused with his back to his dark room.

From where I stood, in the middle of the hall, I couldn’t see a thing in his bedroom, only what was under the shaft of light the open door provided. His room never really had a Lockwood-like atmosphere. It didn’t have anything that could give away a trace of his personality. It wasn’t organized, but it wasn’t messy.Though right now, what I could see from my position was a mess even _I_ couldn’t possibly make in my small attic room. There were sheets spread all over, newspapers, books, even photographs. Nothing organic (food, for instance), no. It was almost as if someone had spilled the contents of his brains. It was just a mess of ideas. I tried not to stare at it.

He lingered at the threshold, looking at his plate on the tray he held, probably didn’t notice me peeking into his room. If it were old times, he would have broken our first golden rule of survival.

He seemed to consider the offer, but thought better of it with a slight shake of head.

“Maybe some other time,” his voice was low and hoarse. He went inside and clicked the door shut.

 I stayed there, taking the situation in.

Well, so much for having a family lunch.

 

George left hurriedly as I did the dishes. I went downstairs, to our office, and flopped down in my chair. I looked at the skull in the jar.

For some reason, my Talent lingered. I could still talk to that foul thing, even though I couldn’t catch whatever the weaker ghosts tried to tell me. For some time, I thought Lockwood resented me for that. He used to have a strong Talent too, but it vanished as we grew into adulthood.

“ So? How many kids did you set off screaming for their lives today?“ he made an annoying tone. “ ‘ahhh, teacher Lucy’s gonna teach us to death!’ - Oh, don’t look so glum. Is it Lockwood again? I told you to just leave him!“

"Skull," I said flatly. "As much as I  _love_ to hear your sarcastic comments, I really need a break. And - just for the record - the kids respect me, okay?"

“Yeah, right. Just as much as Lockwood respects you? You’ve been working your butt to keep this house. The fat kiddo’s busy with his own _creepy_ stuff,“ the plasm stirred, as if shuddering, probably remembering old times when George used to experiment on it. “ I’ll never forget that time he took me into the bath tub. Torturer.“

“Get over it, skull. You know how to hold a grudge, huh? For a thing that is basically immortal. No. Don’t even start. I told you I’m not in the mood,” I sighed.

“Well, - just saying - if you keep this up, instead of bringing Lockwood up, you’ll just end up like him _yourself,“_ the plasm faded, the glowing extinguished. The skull was gone.

I started working on some commissions of ilustrations for the pamphlets. DEPRAC had requested - along with proper payment - that I drew scenes, weapons, ghost types, places and pretty much anything they were writing about so it could be printed and distributed to the newest generation of Talented kids. I worked on them for a few hours.

The skull hadn’t returned after that exchange, and I decided to get a snack in the kitchen upstairs.

Opening the fridge, I rummaged it’s contents, finding some spaghetti left over - George was rushing so much he didn’t even finish eating. I decided to leave it to him, he’d be pleased. Also, I didn’t want him sobbing in my ear about how much he cherished leftovers.

There was nothing ready to be eaten, so I chose to go to Arif’s and get some juicy donuts.

When I stepped into the hall, though, I heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Lockwood. He had the tray in his hands. He didn’t seem disturbed by my presence at all. He paused at the bottom of the steps, looking at me.

“Hey, Lockwood," I said as naturally as I could with a smile. "Thanks for bringing it down, just leave it at the table and I’ll clean it up. I’m going to Arif’s. Get some donuts. Want anything?”

He shook his head.

“Ok, see you in a bit.”

I rushed to the door and out of the house, letting the night breeze engulf me as I leisurely walked to store.

 

Turns out I bought donuts for everyone. I saved the extra in the fridge and glued a post it to it’s door: “Donuts for you guys. Don’t eat them all, George. - L.” I looked around the kitchen and didn’t see the tray Lockwood had brought down before I left. Did he wash it all? It seemed so. My heart beat with a little more warmth, digging up the hope I’d almost let die. Was he getting better? He didn’t seem to try to run away from me before, either. Gosh, he _opened the door_ when I went to his room! I couldn’t help myself but grasp this tiny spark of hope.

I ate the donuts in the silence of my room. I’d been leaving the skull in the office the past weeks so I could have some alone time to think. Sure, it was helpful sometimes but I haven’t been in the mood of selecting the useful information in the middle of all the sarcasm it threw at me.

“At least tomorrow’s Saturday. Saturdays are good. Saturdays mean no classes,” I said to myself.

I was spread on my bed with my t shirt and shorts, looking at the ceiling and chewing on the donut. Then I heard someone shouting my name.

“Lucy! Phone for you!” It was George, obviously. When had he come back, though?

“Coming!”

I descended the stairs swiftly, lingering at the landing, looking at any sign of life from Lockwood’s door.

Nothing.

“Lucy Carlyle speaking.”

“Carlyle. It’s Kipps. Barnes wants to speak with you all.”

“Now?”

“Well, yes, why would I be calling you otherwise?”

“What do you mean by ‘all’?”

“You know, the usual. Tony, you and Cubbins. If Holly’s still there, she can come too.”

“I’m afraid Lockwood is… undisposed.”

“Well, I’m sure you can deal with whatever Barnes want. Cubbins is busy too, right? With the Cleaning.”

“Yes. Well, I guess it won’t harm to give it a try. I’ll be there as soon as I get a cab.”

“Fine.”

As soon as I hung up, I called our old friend Jake, the cab driver. He said he’d be here in a few minutes, time enough for me to get changed. I waited impaciently in the hall.

George leaned at the living room threshold.

“You said Kipps called you?”

“Yes.”

“What does Barnes want?”

I shrugged.

“Well, tell me when you find out. I’m not staying long, either. I just came back to grab some notes and files," he adjusted his glasses, thoughtful. "Actually, I’ll get that cab with you.”

“Sure.”

He went upstairs.

I looked down at myself. I had on my business clothes - agent clothes. Heavy-duty boots, skirt, leggings, a long-sleeved turtleneck and a jacket at my waist, just in case it got colder. I also had a backpack with essencials in it - this time the Skull wasn’t included. On top of it all, a delicate - perhaps the only delicate thing about Lucy Carlyle in general - pendant hung around my neck. A gift from a while back. A reminder of how good things used to be.

A horn blared.

“Coming!” George yelled from above.

I made my way to the cab.

“Evening, Miss Carlyle! How you doing?”

“I’m ok, Jake,” I smiled.

“Where to, tonight? With all due respect, you look great! Almost like old times.”

“Thanks. DEPRAC. Going to see old Barnes," I sighed. "Yeah… _almost_ like old times,” the last part came as a whisper.

“Are we waiting for someone?”

I’d left the door open after sliding in at the back of the car.

“I’m here! Sorry. Couldn’t find the map I was working on,” he slid beside me. “Turns out I hadn’t brought it home at all! I left it on my desk at DEPRAC.”

“All set?” Jake asked.

“Good to go, Jake.”

 

 

George and I parted ways as soon as we got to the building.

I went to the reception, to be greeted by the most pleasant and neat young woman. She was blonde, her golden locks making soft curls around her face just a little down her shoulder. She wore a crisp grey uniform in contrast to her chipper personality. Her expression was bland, with a small smile that didn’t seem to ever go away. Her face seemed like it had been removed from a ceramic doll (not the creepy kind). Flawless. Slightly blushed cheeks. In other words, a disgustingly adorable young woman.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I improved my irritation against other people of my gender. It was merely an annoyance, now.

“Lucy Carlyle? Go straight in, Mr. Barnes is waiting,” her permanent smile was directed at me.

“Thanks.”

I passed the waiting room and went directly to the Conference Room.

He sat at the head of the table, slowly turning in his chair when I let myself in.

“Carlyle. Good to see you,” he spoke through his moustache.

It will be hard to not focus on it when the other aren’t here to take my attention away.

“Mr. Barnes. You needed me?”

“Yes. Where’s that charming boss of yours?”

“Lockwood has been… Not very well. I believe he won’t be joining us today. Or ever.”

“I see… Must be bad if he can’t even come to shine those teeth at me, begging for a page in the news,” he seemed thoughtful. A little surprised, even.

He shook it off fast enough. He took a sip of a coffee cup the had close by.

“The thing is: I called you here to talk of a case.”

“Case? Sir, you know we don’t have our Talents anymore.”

“Yes, yes,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Not _that_ kind of case. You _are_ an Investigative Company. I want you to do precisely that. _Investigate_.”

He paused dramatically.

I tried not to show any emotions, I was still trying to understand what was going on.

“Look,” he opened a manila folder that has been at the edge of the table and pushed it forward.

I pulled it closer to me hesitantly.

“You see those pictures? No, not those. Ah, don’t show me! That’s the corpse. I’m talking about the other- yes, that one. That was before the murder. She was killed recently. DEPRAC and Scotland Yard have been busy with the Cleaning and the new kids. But we still want to avoid any cause of a possible future psychic distubance, so we need you to investigate this murder and everything related to it. Get the murderer in prison. You know the deal.”

I’ve been looking at the folder as he talked. There were photos of the corpse of the victim, of the house she used to live in, of the victim before being a victim at all. I looked again at the last one.

She had long brown hair, tied in a messy bun. Her eyes didn’t have a specific color I could see, but it seemed light. She was sitting in an armchair - like the one Lockwood has in the living room back at home - her back straight, she poised with confidence, yet wore a serene, kind expression on her thin face. I guessed she was about my age: 18, 19? Her clothes were rather casual for such a photo shoot. Plain jeans and a white blouse. She looked happy.

“What was it again? She was murdered… Do you know by who?”

“No. We know nothing. Only what the neighbors told us. They were always at her house. She was a very pleasant lass, they say. Living alone, no parents, they kept an eye on her, making sure she was all right. Then one day she was dead. You have all this info in the file. We hadn’t uncovered much.”

“That’s… Awful.”

“What do you say? Try to get that boyfriend of yours to do something. It’s not the end of the world. Talents come and go. It’s part of life,” he said lightly, gulping the coffee - probably cold - that was left in his cup. His moustache had been strategically moved so he could have that last sip.

“He’s not -” I exhaled sharply. “Look, I’m pretty sure he won’t take it.”

“Tell him to get a grip. Or I’ll come knocking at his door to close that place as I should have done years ago!”

“What is it with you?!” I raised my voice now. “You know if you’d closed us none of this would be happening now! It was thanks to Lockwood & Co. that the Problem is over! And that Marissa was unmasked, and that everything is going well! You may be _The_ Inspector Barnes, but you know very well everything we’ve done to you and to London.”

I felt a sudden rush of sadness. My voice lowered.

“Lockwood… He’s been going through.. a _phase_. Give him some time and I promise you he’ll be fine and Lockwood  & Co. will be back up and running before you know it.”

Barnes had been staring at me. His bushy eyebrows arched.

“Take the folder. Read it. Think about it. Then tell me whatever you decided.”

I looked at the yellowed paper gingerly. I stood up, folder in hand.

I nodded at him. He nodded back.

With that, I carried the oportunity of a new beginning back to Portland Row.


	2. Revealing scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockwood opens his heart for a brief moment, allowing some feelings to escape. Lucy grasps them as if her life depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lockwood is 20, here. I'm not entirely sure, but I think George and him are 2 or 3 years older than Lucy, so Lucy should be about 18 (that's the age I settled for her here). And George is as old as Lockwood. Holly is probably 20, too.

I slowly opened my eyes, still squinting at the sunrays that shone through my window.

Yesterday, after the visit to Barnes, I went to my desk downstairs and the skull was still silent.

Was it mad at me? I couldn't tell. Why would I care? it's a ghost in a jar! It doesn't have feelings.

But my actions said otherwise. I took it to my attic room, leaving it by the window before surrendering to the sleep that I've been craving the whole week.

At least I'd changed into my pjs - I could feel the warmth and softness of the fabric. I didn't know for how long I've been sleeping, which was a bliss.

" _Wakey, wakey! If I didn't know that you sleep like a rock, I'd have cheered on your death, preparing to welcome you! Even though I wouldn't be able to do that personally, since_ I'm trapped in this jar."

"Skull... I'm in the middle of something here," I yawned.

" _How can you sleep for that long? I didn't see you move the whole night!_ "

I stared at the jar. It's plasm was still, but I could hear it's whipering voice in my ear.

"...Do you watch me while I sleep?"

" _Wha-No! Why would I do that? I just come out sometimes and you're asleep and I have no idea of time. Time is a very abstract thing for me._ "

" _Then how can you tell I've been asleep for a long time?_ "

I was grinning at this point.

"I _know how to read clocks, okay? You underestimate my abilities, Lucy. Now, you might want to get dressed. That Holly Munro is here._ "

"Oh. She doesn't mind my mess anymore... Actually, she just tries not to show her disgust, but I can live with that."

As I went downstairs, I paused at the landing, as usual, checking on Lockwood's door. Most of the time I caught myself imagining it like the door next to it - his sister's door - just a symbol of someone that used to live there but doesn't exist anymore.

I ended up staring at it for longer than usual and, before I could move, a door opened.

Not his. The bathroom's. Uh-oh. I should leave before George appears only half covered. I _definitely_ wouldn't want to see that.

But the silhouette behind the mist of the shower was a lot thinner than George's.

It was Lockwood.

I froze. His long-ish hair was wet, falling over his face and brushing his shoulder ever so slightly. He had a robe on, revealing nothing more than a part of his chest and the beginning of his abdomen. He stared at me.

Say something. A coherent something. I beat myself mentally.

"Uh. H-hi. Good morning. I think. Is it noon yet? Probably not. So yeah. Hi," stupid. stupid stupid stupid stu-

"Morning, Lucy," he passed a hand through his hair, brushing the bangs away. His voice was low, as if he were tired.

Which he probably was, whatever he did in that room.

"Would you like to come down? Holly's here. We could all have a together brunch," I smiled.

He gazed at me. His eyes seemed a little less unfocused, an eyebrow slightly raised, as if it had life again. The corner of his eyes squinted very slighly, almost apologetically.

"Maybe-"

"Some other time. Yeah, I know. Well, suit yourself, you know we're always here for you," I padded down the stairs without a second glance.

I shouldn't be mad. I know. But sometimes I couldn't help it. We were all here, we were all taking care of him. He just won't rely on us. We've always relied on him as a leader and as a friend, and now that he needs help he doesn't trust us.

I took a deep breath. He's taking his time. I should respect it.

"Lucy. You _really_  have to show up in your pjs, don't you?"

That was Holly, our neat associate. She sat on chair opposite to George's. George was reading the news, never averting his eyes from the gray papers.

Holly wore a light pink flowy dress, her hands folded carefully on her lap. There was a plate with a stack of waffles in front of her, as well as other breakfast elements: juice, toasts, fruits... She gazed at me with a small, yet genuine smile.

Yup, good old Holly.

"Holly. You _really_  have to judge my lifestyle, don't you?" I retorted.

But it was merely our usual banter.

She suddenly grinned at me, opening her arms to an embrace.

"Oh, no. I just woke up. Don't you-aaaahhh. Get off me! George! Get this hug monster away from meee!"

She laughed.

"Lucy, I came all the way from my house and my books to see you. I deserved at least a hug," she gave a final squeeze and released me.

I glared at George.

"Traitor."

He shrugged.

"George was updating me on things at Portland Row," she smiled warmly, almost knowingly. He must have gotten into the "Lockwood" subject. "We should hang out! You know, a girls night out?"

"Ah... Holly, you know I'm not into that kind of stuff."

"I promise it'll be fun!"

"Maybe another day  I have some stuff to do."

She rolled her eyes.

"You won't get away, Carlyle. Next week. You and I are going out."

"Okay, okay," I flopped down on a chair, and reached for food. I halted when I realized I was going for a whole grain waffle. I decided to get some toast. "How are studies going?"

"Great! Hard, but great. Uni's killing me, but I'm so glad I'm doing this... I've always had my heart set on being a doctor."

"It suits you," I said munching on a toast.

George had been silent, flipping through the news.

"Oh, and I heard about you! You're quite a success, huh, Lucy? I'm glad you're doing well with DEPRAC and the new kids."

Ah, right. That reminded me of yesterday's meeting. I still had to talk to George about that.

"I'm doing okay. George here is the real star. I'm just doing what I can."

"I wish I could keep helping out here, but studying sucks the life out of me. I'm glad to see you're all okay, though.. Well, erm, most of you," she smiled apologetically.

"Right. That reminds me, George, do we have any donuts left? No? You didn't eat everything, did you?"

He'd been shaking his head absentmindedly, as - I assumed - anwers to my questions.

"Okay, then, I'll take some of these waffles up. I'll be right back, Hol."

 

I was getting Lockwood a breakfast tray. Waffles, juice... As soon as I stopped by his room, the door opened.

He looked disheveled, his hair still glistened with humidity, he had his matching, blue pijamas on.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem. I'm glad you're eating."

"...Sorry."

"It's okay," I handed him the tray. "Just keep it up, alright?"

He gripped the handles. I stepped back. His gaze dropped into mine, eyes glimmering for what felt like the first time.

"Lucy..."

"Yes?" I looked him intently, expectantly.

He seemed about to say something, his lips were parted, there was the faintest hint of a smile.

Suddenly, the light in his eyes subdued - they were dull again.

"Thanks."

"You... already said that."

He turned away and closed the door. That was becoming a habit. And I wasn't liking it.

Holly had to leave because of the piles of books she had to read, she said.

I liked her company, she had learned to control her obssession over organizing our things so we were able to have just Holly around. Not the cleaning-compulsion-assistant Holly. We were getting along very well.

I draped myself on one of the armchairs in the library, trying to relax for the afternoon. Turns out I woke up at eleven, so we had a late breakfast and lunch didn't seem to appraise me yet.

I closed my eyes, resting the book I've been reading over my belly. I tried emptying my mind, to sort out my thoughts, but all I could think of was Lockwood. How he seemed to have come back for just a split of second. How he's been interacting with me the past few days. It was almost as if he _wanted_ to talk to me.

Steps entered the room, but I didn't bother and see who it was. Lockwood had picked a few books yesterday, he wouldn't be coming down here for a few more days.

"George. About yesterday - I didn't tell you sooner because I was tired -, Barnes asked us to investigate a case -"

There was a loud _THUD._

A book had dropped.

My eyes snapped open.

Lockwood.

His slim figure stood by the bookshelves. His eyes were wide.

"Oh. Hi, Lockwood. I thought it was George..," I trailed off awkwardly.

He slowly picked up the book from the floor.

"You... talked to Barnes?" He frowned deeply, looking at the book in his hands.

"... Yes. He called me yesterday, asking me to meet him. He wants Lockwood & Co. to-"

"Lockwood & Co. is no more. I'm sure he's aware of that," his voice was tight, he spoke through gritted teeth.

I sat up on the chair, I was suddenly very uncomfortable.

"He is. He just wanted us to give it a try. I have the files if you want to see them. Barnes gave us all the time we need. Maybe we should-"

"Maybe _he_ should stay away from _us._ Barnes was never interested in the Company - even after our multiple successes-, there's no reason for him to do that now," he growled at the Inspector's name, as if the word tasted bad in his mouth.

"Lockwood-"

He shook his head, he started walking away. In a few strides he was out of the room.

I still sat on the armchair.

This was the first time we had an actual conversation and he just runs away. No. I was tired of it. We all suffered. We all worked hard. We all had our own pain from the past. But we all _moved o_ _n._ Why can't he do the same?

I got on my feet. My fists clenched. I walked fast into the hall and up the steps. He'd just reached the landing.

"Lockwood."

He stood a few feet in front of me. All I could see was his back. But he didn't seem inclined to turn and face me either.

"I'm going to say this only once: I know what you're going through - I've been there, Lockwood - we all have. But guess what? We're _carrying on._ Because we have each other. We help each other. Even if some us are a big, stubborn ass!" I cried.

He didn't move a single muscle, but I could see he was tense. His knuckles were white, jaw set, he was clearly controlling his breathing.

I calmed down. My voice lowered.

"You are  _not alone,_ Lockwood. When will you see that? We never gave up on you, so why would you give up on yourself?"

I stepped forward. He was still. I kept moving, stretching out my hand, hovering just above his shoulder hesitantly.

"Please, let us help you," I lowered my hand, making contact with the fabric of his robe.

He flinched. I retrieved my hand double-quick, stepping back.

Lockwood turned to me - but now that I saw him, I almost wish he hadn't.

A hard expression was on his face, his eyebrows were in a frown he'd never worn before. His lips were a thin line, his eyes... I couldn't recognize him in them.

"You don't understand, _Lucy,"_ he laughed humorlessly. He said my name in a way that sent shivers up my spine. There was hatred in his tone. "None of you do. _You_ weren't there when my parents died. When Jessica died. Even _I_ wasn't there! How could you possibly help me if all you ever did - _all these years_ \- was to try and help _ghosts._  And _guess what_? _Ghosts_ are what fucking killed my family! All they did was harm us! Harm _me_."

Tears streamed down his face, he slowly walked away.

"And now that they're vanishing too, all I had left had also been taken away." he turned the handle of his door. He smiled bitterly. "Not that staying would make much difference... My Talent's gone anyway."

I gripped the rail of the stairs. My mouth hung open, but no words came. There _weren't_ words for me to say. My eyes burned with tears, blurring my vision.

"Congratulations, Lucy. That Fetch you saw? It was right. I _am_ hollow. But don't worry, I'm telling you all this now so you don't have to strain your _marvelous Listening_ and get yourself killed trying to 'help' me when I'm dead."

He shut the door softly, in contrast to his hard words. I sunk to the floor. I couldn't think. God, I couldn't _breathe._ The words seeped into my mind and made my head throb. Tears dropped from my cheeks on the floor.

I heard a door click open. My head snapped up. I rushed upstairs into my room, drying the tears away on the way up. I closed the door hurriedly, pressing my back against it, breathing hard.

_knock, knock_

"AH," I jumped away from the door.

"It's me, Luce."

George.

Was he in his room all this time?

"Can I come in?"

I couldn't think properly, I couldn't speak. I sat down on my bed, pressing a hand on my forehead.

The door opened slowly. Then it was closed soundlessly.

He sat beside me.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head.

"Don't worry about him. He's just..," he sighed. "I don't _really_ know what's going on either... Maybe we should just leave him alone, after all."

"He thinks..," I quickly turned to George. He jumped. "He blames ghosts for literally everything that happened in his life, George! He _hates_ them. And now they're gone. God, his _Talent_ is gone! He doesn't know what to do..."

"Well, _we_ don't exactly like ghosts either. I mean, they _are_ fascinating but-"

"George! That's exactly what makes him mad! He thinks we're betraying him by trying to understand Visitors!"

"Lucy... Understanding Visitors doesn't prevent him from bringing his family back. _Nothing_ can bring his family back. Also, understanding ghosts was something his parents did too! Why can't _we_ do that? It's our _job._ And we accomplished it. His parents accomplished it. There's nothing to regret or cry over."

His voice was small.

"...He can't hate us for that."

"George, as much as it seems so, I don't think he hates us... It feels more like he hates _himself._ For not being there for his sister, and for feeling empty even after all these years trying to avenge her. And for losing his Talent. He's just... angry. Very angry. Because of what he  _thinks_ he could have done."

He looked at me. His face was unreadable as usual, except for a single tear that slid down his cheek.

"George..." I hugged him before I could even think of how I would never do that under normal circumstances. "I can't see him like this anymore..."

Even more surprinsingly, he hugged me back - and it wasn't awkward at all.

"Same here," he rested his cheek on top my head.

We stayed like that until the skull started making hateful comments on George. I summed up the insults and passed them on.

"Well, that's my cue," he stood up. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

I flopped down on the bed like a starfish, staring at the ceiling. The skull kept whispering in my ear, but I couldn't concentrate on any of that. I felt detached of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible with endings, with chapter titles and with writing in general but I just want to keep writing this so bad XD  
> I wil change the dynamics a little on the next chapter so it will probably be less boring??


	3. A Change

It was a Sunday.

As much as I appreciated another day of rest, I just wished Monday would come faster. I couldn’t bear to be in the house with Lockwood not talking to me. We weren’t exactly talking to each other before yesterday either, sure, but at least he wasn’t mad at me.

Now I’d just done it.

I didn’t leave my room yesterday after the exchange. I didn’t really _feel_ anything. Even hunger didn’t seem to bother me. George had called me for dinner but I pretended to be asleep and I didn’t even know if Lockwood had had anything other than breakfast either.

I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I knew was that I couldn’t let him stay that way. He was wrong about everything. But how would I make him see that?

I’ve been tucked into my blanket since I woke up. It was past 8 am, now. The feeling of the thick and fluffy fabric made me feel safe from all the things that were happening to me. That everything would be okay as long as I was covered with it.

How wrong I was.

I decided to go downstairs and get some food. Not eating yesterday was a bad move after all. But food didn’t seem to be a good idea at the time. Now it was a completely different thing, though.

I padded down the stairs with my blanket over my head and dragging the remaining part of it across the floor behind me. I spared a single glance at Lockwood’s room’s direction, but I didn’t stop moving until I reached the fridge.

George had bought some Swiss Rolls and sausage rolls. I filled a plate, stacking it with those any other kind of food I could find in there. I got some juice as well and sunk into the living room’s couch, wrapped in warmth with my food. Well, that was a place Lockwood have never been into after all this began. There’s absolutely _no_ way he’d find me there.

I grabbed an issue of True Hauntings that was on the coffee table. I didn’t remember having brought that to the living room... I started flipping through it as I chomped on a swiss roll, careful not to smudge the pages with my fingers or drop filling and sugar over them.

After a few articles I recognized the magazine as the one that contained the first time we appeared on True Hauntings. Though as I kept turning the pages, I couldn’t see any trace of Lockwood & Co. I flipped back to the summary, a few entries had been painted over. I checked the page numbers, but they had been carefully removed from their place. You must have guessed by now that that wasn’t _my_ copy of True Hauntings. It was Lockwood’s.

But what was it doing here? That could only mean-

“ahem.”

I immediately turned to where the voice came. Lockwood was at the doorframe. He wasn’t leaning or anything - he just stood there, gazing at me. He had a rapier in his hand, a black t shirt clung at his body - showing his silhouette - and locks of hair fell softly around his face.

I stared back at him, flinching when he extended a hand.

“Would you mind?” he said, beckoning, as if the magazine would just fly into his hand. “That’s private.”

I still stared.

“Lockwood. It was in plain sight. In a common area,” my voice was a flat tone.

He lowered his hand slowly, letting it fall beside him, eyes slightly wide, eyebrows raised.

Then the corner of his eyes wrinkled, his lips cracked up. He laughed.

Lightly, but I could still notice his amusement.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to contain a smile that tried to form on my own lips.

“What?”

His grin faded into a thin smile, showing sarcasm. He shrugged.

“I forgot how curious you were,” he stepped forward, gently grabbing the magazine from my numb hands. “I’ll keep that…”

I hoped my mouth wasn’t as hung open as I felt it. I couldn't tell if it was really happening until I felt the warmth of that grin, so real compared to the ones I had in my memory. And until I realized how much I missed it.

I forced myself to say something, blinking my numbness away.

“Care to explain why you tried to erase us from there?” I pointed to the magazine in his hand.

He looked down at it, avoiding my eyes. The playfulness he previously had on his face was gone, leaving bitterness and a frown.

“Please?”

He exhaled sharply.

“…Later,” he turned away, marching through the door, in the direction of the kitchen. His soft steps fading away.

I remained in the couch in my blanket. I snuggled into it, suddenly feeling cold; even the food didn’t seem as apetizing as before.

 

Seeing Lockwood with his rapier - the awkward conversation aside - inspired me to practice some moves myself. I went to the basement/office/training room to let go some of the stress I’ve been accumulating throughout the week.

I grabbed my favourite rapier: the one that had accompanied me for the longest part of my career. My hands still had the callouses from the years training swordfighting, so I had only to warm up my wrist and arms before going into action. The plasm-avoiding bob I’d chose for my hair during my ghost-fighting time had grown below my shoulder - not too much - but already enough to slap me on the face whenever I jerked away from an imaginary attack or invested against the straw dummy too fast. My pajamas were damp in sweat, hair stuck to my face and neck, and my breathing was uneven - I haven't been exercising very often -, but I felt good. A little rapier training always made me feel that way. It gave me confidence. I was an agent. I’m not _any_ young woman. I’m an ex-agent (retired, maybe?) and I could still be as fierce as I once had been.

As I heaved, I didn’t notice the steps coming down the spiral staircase. Only when the voice spoke.

“For a moment there I thought it was Lockwood. I think his habit of de-stressing on the straw lady rubbed off on you, geez.”

I glared him. I was in no mood for teasing. Especially not about Lockwood.

“His skills probably did too, wanna try your luck?”

He held up his hands.

“Still feisty,” he sat on the chair near the rapier rack, then waved his hand encouragingly. “Keep going, I’ll just stay here.”

“I just finished, actually.” I sat against the wall beside him, perching my elbows over my bent knees.

“So, how was the meeting?” He said after a while.

“What meeting?” I looked up at him.

“Earth to Lucy, hello-o? You saw Barnes, remember?”

Oh. Right. I’d almost forgotten. I did talk about it, but it was to the wrong person… Ugh, I don’t want to remember that.

“Right. Barnes asked us to work on a case. DEPRAC and Scotland Yard are busy with the whole Cleaning thing and they want to avoid any possibility of future ghosts, so they want to put at rest anything that might stir… He gave me a file.”

“Hm… What’s the case about?”

“Murder.”

“Typical.”

I’d done my share of thinking about taking the case. Lockwood was the one who had a real logical, detective-like line of thought. And Lockwood… He wasn’t keen on the idea of investigating the case.

“What do you think? Can we do this? Without… You know,” I hated how Lockwood turned into a sensitive subject; but it really did pain me to say his name, knowing he hasn’t been the same for quite some time.

“I… I don’t really know. Can I see the file? Actually, can you go take a shower before that? You’re going to leave sweat stains on the folder.”

“George. I could kick your buttocks for that right now… if you weren’t right. I do need to take a shower.”

 

Showering was always a ritual for me. It helped clear my mind and sort out my thoughts and my feelings - something I’ve been having to do pretty often. I was probably the main cause of water waste in the world because sometimes I lost track of how long I stayed under the showerhead warming my body as I thought of the past. Either that or I stayed in the small tub - I had to keep my knees bent at all times - until the water went from very warm to almost cold and my skin was all wrinkled.

Then I’d spend some time in front of the mirror, trying to see how people saw me. How _did_ they see me? I couldn’t tell. No matter how long I stayed in front of the looking glass, I never got a hint of how people perceived me as an agent, as a person, as a teacher, or even as a friend. How confusing. I stepped away, my damp hair cascading over my shoulders, and reached for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I dried my hair as best as I could with the towel, grabbed the manila folder that I’d left rather carelessly on my bedside table and went downstairs.

For some reason, the skull hadn’t bothered me for the time I stayed in my little attic room. Was the lever opened? I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter now, though, because - for the first time - I had in my hands a case that wouldn’t need my (now pretty useless) Talent. George spent a few minutes looking at the contents of the folder as I made some tea.

“That sounds promising. Violent death, mysterious murderer... Could give us a formidable Type 2 to deal with in the future.”

“We don’t know who, how or why was she killed, we can’t really tell…”

“Oh, come on, look at this brutal murder. She ought to be a rather challenging Visitor,” he gestured at the picture of the corpse.

Aside from when I was at the meeting with Barnes, I hadn’t looked at the picture of the body. Looking at this kind of picture once was enough to bear it in my mind for some nightmares. Of course, I didn’t exactly mind, it was my job, after all. But thinking of the girl she once had been makes me feel sad for the end she had come to.

Then it makes me feel angry because this kind of empathy is exactly what Lockwood didn’t want me to feel. How couldn’t I? Of course, I tried not to let it affect me during cases, but we cannot ignore the fact that she was a person once. Just like us. Would we want to be treated like this? No matter how horrid we may look like because of the circumstances of a death someone _else_ caused us?

I pushed the thoughts away. We weren’t dealing with ghosts anymore. We were dealing with _people._ A shudder went up my body from head to toes. It reminded me of all the awful people we’ve met: Mr. Fairfax, Percy, the Winkmans, Marissa and her henchman, even Rotwell. They were all far more dangerous than any Visitor we fought.

“So… Any thoughts?” I placed the mugs on the table.

George pushed his glasses up his nose, then sipped his tea carefully.

“It’d be a lot of work. Researching recent incidents are harder, there aren’t many records.. We’d have to do a field research, interviewing, searching the house, the places she used to go…”

“But..?"

“But - since I did finish the map and Bobby had seemed to comprehend my way of thinking - I suppose we could give it a try?”

“But -”

“I know,” he smiled sadly. “I wish he gave his thoughts on this, too, but you know we can’t count on him right now… It’s up to you, really. I’m in if you’re in.”

“I don’t know...”

Remember I said I’d done a lot of thinking? I did. But I couldn’t come to a conclusion. The main player was out of the game. I couldn’t possibly have an answer if Lockwood didn’t even consider the offer. Yeah, I basically decided on not deciding. But there didn’t seem to be a better solution for now.

“I’ll think some more. It’s not a decision to be done easily. Barnes gave us plenty of time, we can do this slowly,” I said.

He nodded, staring out at the window, probably still thinking about what he just read.

"So, when’s that lasagna happening?” I grinned.

My stomach have been rumbling for a while now; probably wouldn’t have if I’d eaten that neat pile of sausage rolls and swiss rolls that I left, neglected, in the fridge.

“Wow, Lucy, and you used to judge _me_ for my timing on asking for food. I’ll start cooking whenever you’re ready to help me,” he cleaned his glasses on the hem of his shirt. “Sometimes I wonder if you only let me live here because of my deserving-of-the-gods food.”

“Don’t worry, George, even your excellent cooking would never be enough to make up for having to bear with you.”

 

Without considering our arguments over the amount of cheese a lasagna should have or the size of the lasagna itself, the cooking process went pretty smoothly. I never had a brother - only sisters - but if I ever had one, I supposed it would be like having George around. Annoying, supportive, sarcastic, truthful and loyal. We were never the perfect team, but we got along in our own, quirky way. The lasagna was a proof of it.

As we waited for it to bake, we doodled on the thinking cloth; eventually going for tic-tac-toe, in which George won all the rounds.

“I’m not even going to ask how you do that. I don’t want to know.”

“I have a technique, Luce. I could teach you. You just have to say: ‘George is the Master of All Games and Lucy is a loser. A very sore loser.’ Say it. And I shall provide you all the knowledge I have acquired with my brilliance.”

“Ha. No way. I’d rather go to the Other Side and play hide and seek with ghosts.”

“That would be interesting. And very fun. I mean, ghosts _could_ be friendly if they weren’t so obsessed over our warmth as living bodies on the Other Side. Have you ever thought of that? I’ve read this article once-”

“George,” I looked at him. “I think it’s done.”

We crouched in front of the oven, shoving each other to the side as we tried to peek through the glass at the same time. It was perfect. George took it off and placed at the center of the table. It smelled amazing. He served me, then cut a generous piece for himself. We took the first bite. It was delicious.

“This is wonderful. I told you to put more cheese. I was right.”

“Look at this stack of pasta. If I hadn’t told you to do more layers, it wouldn’t have enough space for all the cheese you wanted.”

We spoke with our mouths full. Then we ate some more. And when I looked at the third plate I’d placed on the table, considering it's  owner, I heard steps behind me, at the entrance of the kitchen. George, who sat in front of me, had no expression on his face, as usual, but he was still, looking behind me. I turned.

“I figured it’s too much trouble for you to keep taking me food uptairs, so..,” Lockwood trailed off.

He had changed into a fresh set of pajamas.

His eyes looked down, a hand at the back of his neck. But not in the usual sad, mopey way. He was embarassed. He was unsure of our reaction.

“Well, we do have lots of chairs here,” George was the first to recover from the shock. “And an extra plate. I’m not commenting on the lasagna, though, because I definitely could eat it by myself.”

I shook off my daze, too.

“S-sure. George talks too much, though, he’s barely managing to finish that piece,” I said as I chose a juicy slice for him.

“Uh, actually, I just came to grab some food… I don’t want to… bother you guys.”

“You don’t bother us, Lockwood,” I replied instantly, looking him in the eyes with a frown. “Ever.”

I handed him the plate and the silverware I’d picked for him.

“Thanks, Lucy… I… I better go. I can do the dishes if you want,” he said, already leaving.

George and I watched him vanish into the hall then looked at each other. We didn't comment on it, and anything we might have wanted to talk over lunch vanished with him.


	4. Dream

And it was Monday. Back to work.

I'd hopped up the steps into the building that once belonged to Fittes. It was reformed by DEPRAC and there were lots of classrooms for the new students.

I'd gone straight to the class that was assigned to me at the beginning of the year - I was running late. The evening before had been calm enough, but the real problem started when I closed my eyes after settling in inside my blanket for the night.

I had a dream, basically. It wasn't bad, per say, but it was... troubling.

It started with Portland Row. Nothing new, we were at home. Only I was the only person there.

I had just gotten at the house, apparently, and I was dressed with my home outfit: t shirt and shorts. It was a sunny day; the light in the kitchen that came from outside was warm and greenish, reflected from the grass that glinted under the sunlight. I could also smell lavender - not the iron and salt mix that usually came with it - and it was more pleasant than I would have ever thought it could be. I stayed there, beside the kitchen table, looking out at the bright backyard, breathing the fresh summer air that came from it. It was revigorating.  
Suddenly, I could feel all the laughter we ever did around the house. God, _I_  was laughing right now! Why was I crying, though...? I wiped away the tears, not understanding them really.

"Lucy..?"

I jumped and turned hastily.  
I took in the person in front of me. A wild, dark hair covering an eyebrow; shiny eyes that made you feel more alive; a long, pointy nose above a pair of thin, smiling lips.

What a smile... It was warm and companiable, I've seen that before... It slowly grew into a grin, showing a perfect line of immaculate teeth.

"...Lockwood?"

I stepped forward slowly, scared that the young man in front of me would disappear if I inched any closer. He didn't seem to be in a rush either, but something in his eyes glinted with each step I took. When I reached him, we were very close.  
I squeezed my eyes, as if I wasn't seeing properly. But he was there! Right in front of me!  
I cupped his cheeks after brushing away the flop of hair that always fell over his face. I felt his sharp jaw bone, his cheekbones and his soft skin, slightly brushing that little raised scar on his forehead from one of his heroic acts to save me.

I couldn't even make myself blush, it was a dream after all.

"You look... Different," I smiled, matching his upturned lips.

His face was a little less pale than usual, as if he'd spent a healthy time under the sun. His frame was elegant and strong, yet thin and slender. Unusually, he wore a casual outfit, a t shirt and bermuda shorts - as if he was ready for this summer that seemed to be happening outside. 

He placed a hand over mine.

"You look even more wonderful than usual," he kissed my palm. I felt the softness of his lips.

Now I could feel my cheeks burn just as a shiver went up my spine. I guess a cold air current passed me and I didn't even notice.

Why would I, anyway? Everything that would possibly draw my attention was concentrated right in front of me, in the form of a good friend.

Suddenly a flash of sadness spread across his face, reminding me of the Lockwood that had been living with me for the past few months.

"I'm sorry, Luce... About all this. I haven't been myself lately..."

"No need to be," I said, brushing a thumb on his cheek, all of sudden desperate to make him happy again. "You're okay. We're okay."

I smiled as best as I could.

He leaned in, touching his forehead against mine. I felt his cinnamon breath against my lips as he spoke.

"Thanks to you."

Tears threatend to fall from my eyes again.  
But before that could happen, an unexpected sharp pain struck my chest. We split apart. It was like the Poltergeist at the department store all over again. All the light and familiar environment was gone, giving place to a black void. He stretched out a hand to me, I did the same, but we were miles apart, engulfed in blackness, fading away. I saw his lips mouth my name desperately; if I could hear his voice, he would definitely be screaming.

I felt like I was falling - almost like when we jumped in the Thames - before waking up in a spasm, sitting up on my bed quickly.  
I'd woken up but the tears were still there. It felt SO real... It was as if we really were together. I couldn't think straight. My eyes turned to the clock. I'd slept 20 minutes more than usual.

 

The students were chatting softly.  
I managed to get in the class on time. They all gave me a very cheery "Good morning, Miss Carlyle". I answered them with a smile. 11-year-olds could be cute when they wanted to.

Today I had prepared a pop quiz on "Ghost Types" and "Effects of an Apparition on Humans"; then I taught them "Listening to Voices" and "Listening to Sounds", from all of the things I've heard over the years. One of the topics even included the "Carlyle Formula". Yeah, it was a thing. Though they crossed out the 'TM' bit. It did seem to be a stretch, now that I think about it. And the class was over before I knew it. The students were great. They knew why they were there, and were determined to make the best of the gifts they had earned from fate. They felt important. They _were_ important. Just like we once had been.

The kids left to the next class, where they would have "Ghost-warding Chemistry".

I looked at the calendar on my table as the room emptied. We were a week away from summer vacation. I didn't remember this was my last week of work.

The good thing about snack breaks was that you had about 15 minutes to take a breather. That or your mind could trick you into thinking of unwanted things. Such as Lockwood. I couldn't shake off the realness of the dream. I could still feel where he'd touched my hand with his, or the way his lips brushed against my skin...

"Miss Carlyle?"

I jumped, dropping a pen I've been fiddling with.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," it was the secretary from the DEPRAC building I've met the other day standing right beside my table. She offered a smile.

"It's ok, I was just... Lost in thought. What can I help you with?"

"Mr. Cubbins asked me to send you a message," she handed me a paper.

Unfolding the small piece I could see George's neat handwriting.

_Luce, I need a Listening expert for the area we're working on. We have all the data for several - and I repeat - SEVERAL areas. We're working on sound patterns now, you just come and analize. If you're in, would you be able to stay with us for the rest of the week? - G_

A jolt of energy ran through my veins. I felt my blood thumping in my ears. It was like entering a haunted place all over again. Fear, but excitement and a sense of duty to attend to. I liked it.

The blonde, smiling lady stood a few respectable feet away from me, waiting for my answer. I grabbed a pen and a new piece of paper.

_I'll check if I can stay with you for the week. I'll let you know soon. - L_

I handed her the paper. She nodded briefly and stepped away. And I realized how much of a daze I was in before she came because I now could hear the hoove-like noise her heels made as she went to deliver my message.

I made my way out after a few minutes, only I wasn't going out of the building, but deeper within it. I stood by a door that was different from all the others. It clearly kept something important behind it. Discreet, with a rather delicate strip of gold; but powerful, made of a sturdy, dark wood. The small plaque read: "Principal's Office" in a very ornamental lettering.

I knocked two times.

"Come in," sounded a muffled, light voice.

"Excuse me, Miss Jones, it's Lu-"

"Lucy. You can call me Amelia, you know that," she looked up from her paperwork amd smiled.

She was rather young. In her thirties, I bet. She had a dark chocolate skin that gleamed under the soft sunlight that streamed through her window. Her hair was black with tight, curly locks delicately sprung from her scalp, sitting one over the other in a wide, harmonic form all around her round face. She wore a beige dress than went to her knees, hugging she curvy silhouette in a pretty way. Her hands were softly placed over the table as she wrote something on the blank page she'd just turned.

"Sorry, I can't help it," I smiled.

"It's okay," she rested the pen on the side of the white sheet, paying full attention to me. I really liked her; she felt like one of the older sisters I had but in a nice, present version.

Though, unfortunately, she knew by now I only came into her office when something was up. That didn't mean I didn't enjoy talking to her nonetheless.

"What do you need, hon?"

"I know summer vacation is coming up already, but Geor- Mr. Cubbins, from the DEPRAC, needs my assistance with issues that require a Listener. Er, a retired one. With experience," I finished lamely.

"Oh. How many days would you need?"

"This... Whole... Week?" I grinned apologetically.

"Hm. I think I _could_ manage Miss Godwin to take over..."

"But...?"

"No buts, dear, you're free to go," she mocked a salute. "But I do hope to see you after summer, young lady. We'll miss you."

"Don't worry, boss, I'll be back before you know it."

 

I was hyped but at the same time scared. What was it all about? George didn't give much details after all. But what he proposed seemed harmless enough. He would never ask me to do something that would make me uncomfortable.

George could be a lot of unpleasant things - the skull named most of them - but he was also loyal, trustworthy.

I got a cab to DEPRAC. I found myself back in that building once again, in another life changing promise. Even if for just a week.

"Hi, Betty," I'd learned the name of the pleasant secretary. Seeing her earlier made me remind myself to politely learn and remember her name.

"Hello, Miss Carlyle. Mr. Cubbins should be at the end of this corridor," she indicated the passage to my left.

"Thanks."

George was standing, hunched over a big, white, rectangular table at the center of a room. He was working over lots of large papers. There was no sign of coffee cups or snacks over the table, only on a small stool placed at one corner. He probably found out that color coding might be tricky when you drop colorful food over it.

The walls were parallel to the table's form, in a 2 meter distance, making it a pretty small room. There was a whiteboard and a chalkboard on the bigger walls, facing each other. Maps were drawn on the dark surface with colorful chalk; and the white, reflective surface had lots of information written all over it in George's handwriting. There was a shelf at the end of the room that extended upward and sideways, filling the whole wall.

They were full of paper stacks and file organizers.

George paused, noticing my presence, then turned to me.

"Thanks, Luce," he beckoned me with his fingers.

"So, what's the deal?"

"As I briefly explained to you on the note, we're finding patterns not only for apparitions, but for the voices the agents have been hearing. I hoped you could give me an insight on that."

I frowned.

"If you identified the sounds, you could easily do the finding patterns part, George."

"Not really... You know I was never really _that_ Talented. There are some things I have no idea of how they may feel like. Like the buzz you feel with a multiple Source, or those tapping sounds that are a different thing each time... I could never tell them apart. I thought getting your impression on the descriptions would be enlightening."

"I'll gladly do as best as I can."

We discussed, made up theories, scribbled on the papers, had some tea, and also laughed from time to time. The clock showed we had stayed like that for a few hours.  
As we worked, I found some very curious descriptions, as George promised; they varied from that background buzz I felt with the bone glass - static-like - to a constant tingle, and even to a hollow, throaty sound, as if someone was infinitely condensing a glass with a low "h...aah..."

We took a night cab home together, George endlessly explaining his theories as I patiently listened and occasionally gave my own thoughts on what he said.

For a moment, I had even forgotten about the dream I had. Though when we got home, planning dinner, we smelled food from the kitchen. George had a surprised look on his face - which was rare - and my face probably carried the same expression.

We slowly made our way to the kitchen, as if whoever was there could be easily scared by us and then run away. Which he probably would.

I was the first to step inside. I saw a flash of black hair.

"Oh, hi! I hope you guys don't mind me coming in unannounced. I wanted to make a surprise," Holly smiled.

George and I released a breath we didn't know we'd been holding.

We sat by the table, not mentioning who we have been thinking of from the moment we got into the house, but secretly hoping it had been true.


	5. New Member

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took a while! Some stuff has been going on in my life so I don't when I will post again!  
> But thanks for sticking around ♡

The week passed pretty much like the first day. It required a lot of concentration, but it was easy work.

  
That first day, after getting home, George, Holly and I had dinner together. Lockwood hadn't appeared, perhaps because of the unusual presence of our former colleague, but he kept showing up the next days, even though he still wouldn't sit with us.

As I walked home from Arif's after a lazy morning, I passed a tent. I couldn't see what they were selling, but people seemed excited enough about it.

  
I'm not a person that likes buying in general, you see. But I do like buying good things for a good price. So I decided to take a look.

  
As I gently pushed through the people so I could see (I'm not very tall) I heard light meows and woof woofs.

  
It was an adoption tent.

  
Cats and dogs were being taken after a long wait for a home. I paused. It looked like they had a very good day, there was only a couple of puppies and a black kitten. The other people that had been in front of me had already done their choice and were signing papers or buying supplies.

  
That small cat looked at me.

  
He had such big, sparkly eyes that called for me... I stepped closer. he stood up on his hind legs, supporting the front legs on the cage. I kneeled in front of it.

  
"Poor little guy. Still here because there's this superstition about black cats, you know? And with all that Problem thing it only seemed to make people think even less of this cutie. But he's a sweetheart. He also seems to like you," the old lady smiled at me.

  
"How much?"

  
"Nothing, my dear. You can donate for our cause, though. And we also have supplies for keeping a cat in your home. That's all that it would cost you."

  
I looked at him again. His big eyes shined back at me.

  
"I'll take him."

 

That was the most impulsive act I've ever done in my life. Except for maybe those times you had to trust your Talent and forget everything you learned in the Fittes Manual.

  
And it was totally worth it.

  
As I walked back home with a few bags in one hand and a box that meowed in the other arm, my only worry was hope that no one was allergic to cats.

  
I installed his food and water in the kitchen and the litter box in the living room.

  
"Ok. I hope you like Portland Row. I certainly did," I picked him up. His little claws gnawed at my clothes. "Let's go for a tour."

  
I started with the kitchen.

  
"This is where we all eat. And you too, see? There's water and your cat food. Down there's the basement, I'll show you later. This is the living room and that's your box," the cat seemed to be paying attention, still clutching at my clothes as I caressed him on top of his head. "This is the library. Probably not very interesting for you. Ok, now up we go."

  
I stepped onto the landing.

  
"A few more books here... And this is George's room - I advise you not to go in there, for your health. This is Lockwood's late sister's room. You shouldn't go in there either, we don't usually go too deep into the past here. And this is -"

  
The door opened.

  
"Lockwood."

  
His eyes bore into mine. Then they trailed down to the small feline in my arms. He looked at me again, waiting for an explanation, even though his face was expressionless.

  
"Um- Hi. This is cat - I don't have a name for him yet - you see, he was alone and sad and now he's here and please don't be mad at me."

  
I hugged the cat.

  
Lockwood bent close to it.

  
I froze.

  
I was ready to slap his hand away from the little kitten, but what he did surprised me more.

  
He scratched the top of his head, in a very spontaneous movement, as if he were familiar with that sort of interaction.

  
The cat was pleased.

 

"Captain Whiskers."

  
I blinked.

  
"I beg your pardon?"

  
"We should name him Captain Whisker," he gave me the briefest smile. The first I've seen after the dream. "May I?"

  
"Sure."

  
He picked Captain Whiskers up. The cat really seemed to like him.

  
"It was good of you to bring him home. I rather like him," Lockwood's expression was soft.

  
I liked that.

  
"Well, I guess I can get it right every now and then," I smiled, brushing my fingers against his fur.

  
Lockwood seemed to have had the same idea.

  
Our hands met.

  
His skin was soft, his long fingers were delicate - could easily be a piano player's - but they were firm, as if every action was very calculated.

  
This time it clearly hadn't been, though.

  
I retrieved my hand slowly, awkwardly.

  
"Sorry. Do you... want to keep him? I have no idea how to take care of a cat. You seem very comfortable, though."

  
"I don't... Have much experience with cats either."

  
"Oh," I looked at him. "Well, I guess we'll have to find it out together then."

  
"It seems so..."

  
A few meows escaped from the black fur ball in Lockwood's arms.

  
And it didn't stop.

  
"Oh. Ok. Something's wrong," I panicked a little. "What is wrong?"

  
"Probably hungry?"

  
"Right! Let's take him to the kitchen."

And so we did.

Captain was eating furiously. It made me wonder if he'd had enough food while he stayed in the shelter - I found out later that he always ate like that; as if every meal was his last. Lockwood and I observed him from our places at the table.  
As I got the cat food, Lockwood had fixed us some tea, which we drank as we looked at the new house member.

  
"How cute," I commented. A smile on my face.

  
"Very."

  
"Where will he sleep?"

  
He sipped his tea.

  
"We should probably see his habits. See where he'll be more comfortable."

  
"Are you sure you've never had a cat?" I asked amusedly.

  
He suddenly seemed very concentrated on his tea.

  
My tea also seemed very interesting all of sudden, and I just wished I hadn't said anything at all in the first place.

  
The cat moved.

  
He started toward the hall, very slowly, certainly exploring his new house. I stood up, following Cap Whiskers from a distance, seeing if there was any object that could be harmful for the kitten.

  
"He seems to like my chair."

  
I jumped.

  
"God, Lockwood. Could you not sneak up on me?"

  
"I thought you'd gotten used to that by now," the faintest amused smile creeped up his lips.

  
I forced myself to look away.

  
"Oh, Lord, he's definitely going to use it as a scratch post," Lockwood whispered. His eyes on the cat that made his way to the armchair Lockwood had sat so many times for so many meetings.

  
"Should we do something about it?"

  
"We probably should. But I'm very keen on spoiling the cat, to be honest," he smiled softly.

  
"I would definitely enjoy that too."

  
The cat scratched the armchair as Lockwood predicted, and then he climbed on it and curled up, taking a nap.

  
"So cute," I said again. And I would probably say that more times.

  
"I didn't know you liked cats."

  
I looked at him as we went back to the kitchen.

  
"Actually, I didn't know that either," I sipped my tea; it was still warm. "But when he looked at me, I just... Fell in love, I guess? Somehow, I knew we'd be best buddies. At least I hope so."

  
I smiled at him.

  
He was looking outside the window. He seemed to have heard what I said, though. But he also seemed to be thinking of something else, searching for a memory.

  
"My... Uncle. He had a cat."

  
I waited.

  
He sipped his tea.

  
"A siamese. Ava was her name. I always looked forward to visiting him because he was really nice but especially because I really liked Ava. Ava and... And Jessica - and I -, we played a lot, since we didn't have many cousins. So when uncle died, we took Ava in, but she missed him too badly. One day, she was gone. We searched everywhere, we distributed flyers, we checked shelters... We... _I_  still don't know what happened to her."

  
I was silent.

  
He stood up to get some cookies. For a moment, though, I almost thought he was going to run away.

  
"I'm sorry about Ava, Lockwood..," I looked at his back. "I'm sure she felt loved by both of you... And I'm sure Captain Whiskers will feel the same way about you now."

  
He sat down, placing the cookie jar between us.

  
"Thanks, Lucy."

 

The conversation didn't last longer. He commented on the weather, which I politely replied to, then excused himself back into his room.

  
I felt odd. The conversation left me with a tingling sensation that annoyed me. It made my heart beat faster and my stomach churn.  
I remember feeling that way back in the ghost-hunting days, and that seemed to be reason behind all these symptoms. But I hadn't put my life in danger for a while now, so why do I still feel this way?

  
I decided to ocuppy myself with watching Captain Whiskers as he explored the house some more. Then I took him to my room so I could keep an eye on him as I cleaned my messy little attic.

  
I smoothed the sheets on my bed after putting away the piles of laundry I've been keeping on my chair and behind the door.  
When I took the last piece of clothing from my bedside table, I saw a flash of yellow falling on the floor. Cap Whiskers immediately felt attracted to it and inspected the object before I had the chance to get closer.

  
I picked up the cat and what I found to be a manila folder.

It was the case's folder.

  
I'd forgotten completely about it! How long has it been? Definitely more than a week by now.

  
"Mew."

  
"I know, Whiskers. I should do something about it... Later, ok? Will you remind me?"

  
"Mew."

  
"Thanks, buddy."

  
I laid on my bed.

  
It actually felt good to lay on a freshly made bed. I should do that more often.

  
"You see, Cap," he'd laid on top of my belly, purring as I scratched the top of his furry head. "Sometimes, when you try to help someone too hard, you end up breaking yourself..."

  
"And then you just wonder... Who will help _you?_ Ah, don't worry, I've gotten over that part. I just toughen up and pretend nothing gets to me so I can figure it out by myself. It's always been this way."

  
I laughed bitterly.

  
"Come on, I didn't bring you home for you to hear me complaining. Skull, stop making faces at him, you're scaring him! Captain, I've got your back!"

  
I got the little black kitten and quickly went out of my attic.


	6. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for waiting so patiently! And thank you so much for the feedback!  
> I honestly didn't think it would get comments or kudos at all!
> 
> I know it's been a while, and I know it's quite short, compared to the other chapters, but I guess it's a good way to come back.
> 
> I will be honest though: I don't know when I will update again. I've been working a lot lately and I have to use my spare time wisely! XD But as soon as I get a break, I will put my heart back into this fic.  
> I really want to finish it!
> 
> Anyways, without further ado, behold, chapter 6. I hope you enjoy it!

_Where have you been...?_

_._

_._

_What do you mean?_

_._

_._

_._

_I never left..._

 

 

 

My eyes snapped open.

 

It was The Dream™ all over again.

 

A different one, but the place, the feeling, the  _person..._ was the same.

 

It was a little hazier this time, I couldn't remember the details. Still, I couldn't help but let myself be tricked into thinking it was true.

 

Even if just for a moment.

 

I looked at the clock.

Then at the ceiling.

The will to leave my bed fading away the longer I stayed in the blankets.

I closed my eyes.

 

 

_knock knock_

 

 

"Ugh, George. It's like, 10 am. Can't I just sleep a little longer?" I stomped my grumpy way to the door, opening it in a violent swing.

 

My already messy, just-woke-up state definitely did not help.

 

It made it even worse to know that the person in front of me wasn't, in fact, George.

 

"Oh," I managed.

 

"Um. Sorry, Luce. I thought you'd like to see Captain Whiskers now that he's awake. Since he... You know. Sleeps a lot."  
  


I took in the scene of Lockwood standing before me.

 

A very messy dark hair covering a pair of even darker eyes.

Thin lips hesitating to curve upwards in one of those breathtaking smiles she knew existed.

A pale, smooth skin that hadn't properly seen the sun in a while.

Long fingers that curled around the fur ball in his arms, holding the feline out to me.

 

 

I wanted to reach out.

Why coudn't I move?

It almost felt worse than one of those very strong ghost-locks.

 

 

"...You should go back to bed, Luce," he retrieved his arms, embracing the little cat. "Sorry for interrupting your sleep."

 

I couldn't read his expression. I haven't been able to do that in a while now.

It bothered me.

The distance he'd been keeping between us for the past months.

_It bothered me._

 

"--Wait," I moved my arms. They stretched out.

 

"I guess I was dozing off on my feet," I laughed a little, placing my hands around Captain Whiskers. "Thank you."

 

I focused on the cat in my arms.

It's eyes closed as I touched its head.

I looked up at Lockwood.

 

"I'm glad you're here," looking back at the cat quickly before my body could do anything weird such as  _blushing_.

 

Why did I even say that?

"...Me too," he muttered.

 

I wasn't sure if it was meant for me to hear.

It was so low, he was probably just thinking out loud.

But he was so close, how would he expect her not to hear that?

 

 

"I'll go downstairs," he stepped back.

 

"Library?"

 

His eyes widened.

 

"Y-yeah."

 

"Can I come?" I said rather absentmindedly, as I stroke my hand through the fur of a purring ball.

 

He stiffened. I could _feel_ that.

 

I met his eyes.

 

He... was smiling.

 

"Of course."

 

 

 

 

 

We sat in our usual chairs in the library.

 

Silence and each other's presence was all we had.

 

Captain Whiskers had wandered off to take care of very important cat business.

 

I picked up a cheap novel.

 

Lockwood was riffling through some piles of documents and magazines he had gathered.

 

I decided not to peek on whatever he was doing, so I just tried to concentrate in my book.

 

Failing terribly as I reread the same paragraph few dozen times.

 

 

"...You should pick another book," he said, without taking his eyes off a manila folder.

 

"Wh-What?" I sat up, closing the book. "Why?"

 

"You haven't turned the page in a few minutes," his eyes gazed at me over the rim of the papers. "You were either bored or distracted. You should get another book. One that could grip your attention."

 

"O-okay..."

 

I stood up hesitantly, walking up to the shelves to look for a new book.

Or so I had originally intended.

Because the same concentration that was seen as I tried to read the novel could be perceived as I searched for another novel.

I just went for another random, but familiar title.

 

When I went back into the living room, Lockwood wasn't there.

I looked around. He didn't seem to be anywhere in the room.

Maybe he went off to get a snack? Some tea?

 

I listened. For footsteps or some other traces of a human approaching.

 

Nothing too psychic there.

 

When everything seemed to be quiet enough, I inched closer to the documents he had been reading before.

 

I picked it up, analizing it's contents.

 

"You could've just asked," a voice cracked the silence.

 

I turned to him.

 

He was carrying a tray. With tea and biscuits.

 

Two mugs.

 

"Is that for me?" I blurted.

 

He shrugged.

 

Then set the tray on the table at the center of the armchairs and couches.

 

I put the file back where I had found it.

 

"Don't jump into any conclusions," he said as he handed me a mug. "It was mere curiosity."

 

I took the mug rather contently, absorbing the warmth as I felt the cold in his tone.

 

"I didn't. I just read it," I took a sip of the tea. Just how I like it. "Out of mere curiosity."

 

There was a twitch in the corner of his lips.

 

I grinned at myself when I turned my back at him, heading towards my armchair.

 

When I put the words of the book in front of me, I couldn't help but let my mind drift away into thinking about the scribbles - in Lockwood's handwriting - that were in the manila folder, scattered all over the contents regarding the murder Barnes had assigned to Lockwood & Co. a few weeks ago.

 

I finally allowed myself to smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? XD

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think? ♡


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